A Pearl in Peril: Heritage and Diplomacy

in Turkey Christina Marie Luke

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A Pearl in Peril
 A Pearl in Peril
Heritage and Diplomacy in Turkey

Christina Luke

1
1
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To the boys
CONTENTS

List of Figures ix
List of Tables xv
Foreword xvii
Acknowledgments xxi
Abbreviations xxvii

Introduction: Pillars of Policy 1
CHAPTER 1. Alternative Futures 15
CHAPTER 2. Preference in Paris 41
CHAPTER 3. Open Intelligence 78
CHAPTER 4. Diplomatic Deliverables 109
CHAPTER 5. Organic Lives 142
Reflections 175

Notes 185
Bibliography 227
Index 249
FIGURES

I.1 Atatürk Sculpture by Italian sculptor Canonica, Izmir. Photo by

H. Basak. Courtesy of Creative Commons 4
I.2 Map of Treaty of Sèvres and featuring E. Venizelos. Courtesy of
the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, Gennadius
Library 8
1.1 Marble quarry in province of Manisa with tumulus in foreground.
Courtesy of the author 19
1.2 The foothills of the Tmolus mountain range, including the Sardis
Acropolis, Sardis Necropolis, and Pomza’s operations. Courtesy of
the author 22
1.3 “A view of a model of the Zonguldak Coal Mines in the Türkiye İş
Bankası Coal Companies pavilion.”1936 Izmir International Fair.
Courtesy of the Ahmet Piriştina City Archives, Izmir 25
1.4 Gold Stater with Lydian Lion. Courtesy of the Museum of Fine
Arts, Boston. Accession number, 04.1541 32
2.1 H.C. Butler in excavation tent. No. C.7.5.d. American Society for
the Excavation of Sardis 1910-​1914. Courtesy of the Department of
Art and Archaeology, Princeton University 42
2.2 Butler’s Excavation House, Villa Omphale. No. C.7.7.f. American
Society for the Excavation of Sardis 1910-​1914. Courtesy of the
Department of Art and Archaeology, Princeton University 43
2.3 Inside Village Omphale. No. SAR_​AL_​004. American Society for
the Excavation of Sardis 1910-​1914. Courtesy of the Department of
Art and Archaeology, Princeton University 43
2.4 Tennis group on the Sardis court. No. SAR_​AL_​001. American
Society for the Excavation of Sardis 1910–​1914. Courtesy of the
Department of Art and Archaeology, Princeton University 44
2.5 Map illustrating the Megali Idea, after the Treaty of Sèvres.
Courtesy of the Creative Commons 48
2.6 Snow on the ruins of the Temple of Artemis at Sardis (prior to
excavation). No. A.245. American Society for the Excavation
of Sardis 1910–​1914. Courtesy of the Department of Art and
Archaeology, Princeton University 56
2.7 The extraction of the Temple of Artemis at Sardis, side view. No.
A.256. American Society for the Excavation of Sardis 1910-​1914.
Courtesy of the Department of Art and Archaeology, Princeton
University 57
2.8 Crane moving capital at Sardis. No. A.118.b. American Society for
the Excavation of Sardis 1910–​1914. Courtesy of the Department of
Art and Archaeology, Princeton University 58
2.9 Rail system for backdirt at Sardis. No. B. 312. American
Society for the Excavation of Sardis 1910–​1914. Courtesy of the
Department of Art and Archaeology, Princeton University 58
2.10 Detail of the column capital from Sardis. No. A262-​1. American
Society for the Excavation of Sardis 1910–​1914. Courtesy of the
Department of Art and Archaeology, Princeton University 59
2.11 Council of Four at the WWI Paris Peace Conference, May 27, 1919
(candid photo) (L-​R) Prime Minister David Lloyd George (Great
Britian) Premier Vittorio Orlando, Italy, French Premier Georges
Clemenceau, President Woodrow Wilson. Photographer, Edward
N. Jackson (US Army Signal Corps). Courtesy of the Creative
Commons 64
3.1 English Translation of Turkish Lyrics to Agriculture March 83
3.2 Greek Pavilion, 1935. Izmir International Fair. Courtesy of the
Ahmet Piriştina City Archives and Museum, Izmir 85
3.3 Plan of Izmir’s Kültürpark, 1936. Courtesy of the Ahmet Piriştina
City Archives and Museum, Izmir 86
3.4 Pavilion of I.G. Farben Industry, Frankfurt. 1938. Izmir
International Fair. Courtesy of the Ahmet Piriştina City Archives
and Museum, Izmir 87

x | Figures
3.5 Soviet Pavilion, 1938. Izmir International Fair. Courtesy of the
Ahmet Piriştina City Archives and Museum, Izmir 87
3.6 Le Corbusier’s Izmir Plan, 1949. H3-​15-​203-​001. Courtesy of
the Le Corbusier Foundation. © FLC/​ADAGP, Paris and DACS,
London 2018 88
3.7 Le Corbusier’s 102-​2 Agricultural, Artisan, and Industrial schematic
map for Turkey, 1949. H3-​15-​201-​001. Courtesy of the Le
Corbusier Foundation. © FLC/​ADAGP, Paris and DACS, London
2018 89
3.8 Steyr Tractor Pavilion. In foreground is 180 model from 1947.
Izmir International Fair. Courtesy of the Ahmet Piriştina City
Archives and Museum, Izmir 92
3.9 Izmir International Fair, 1947 Poster. Courtesy of the Ahmet
Piriştina City Archives and Museum, Izmir 93
3.10 Opening of the Izmir International Fair, 1947. Courtesy of the
Ahmet Piriştina City Archives and Museum, Izmir 94
3.11 Izmir International Fair, 1950 poster. Courtesy of the Ahmet
Piriştina City Archives and Museum, Izmir 95
3.12 Sketch of the USA pavilion, 1960. Izmir International Fair.
Courtesy of the Ahmet Piriştina City Archives and Museum,
Izmir 98
3.13 Izmir International Fair, 1961 Chamber of Commerce. Courtesy of
the Ahmet Piriştina City Archives and Museum, Izmir 98
3.14 Image of sicknesses crippling the Republic, including malaria.
Courtesy of the Ahmet Piriştina City Archives and Museum,
Izmir 100
3.15 Prime Minister SUleyman Demirel, 1967. Izmir International
Fair. Courtesy of the Ahmet Piriştina City Archives and Museum,
Izmir 107
4.1 Temple of Dendur. Given to the United States by Egypt in 1965,
awarded to The Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1967, and installed
in The Sackler Wing in 1978. Courtesy of the Metropolitan
Museum of Art 115
4.2 Temple of Dendur. Watercolor and gouache on off-​white wove
paper. Frederick Arthur Bridgman, 1874. Courtesy of the
Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2000.597. Rogers Fund, 2000 118

Figures | xi
4.3 The grotto temple of Abu Simbel, seen from the Nile. Getty Images
No. 463953063 118
4.4 Abu Simbel, Transport Ramses Kopf.,Getty Images No.
542393753 121
4.5 Modern machinery is used in salvaging the Abu Simbel Temple
as part of the Aswan Dam Project. December 28, 1964. Getting
Images No 3267957 122
4.6 Main excavation house at Sardis, 1959. Archaeological Exploration
of Sardis 128
4.7 Reconstruction perspective of the Marble Court, 1968. Courtesy of
the Archaeological Exploration of Sardis 131
4.8 Work-​sketch showing findspots of the fallen architectural fragments
in the Marble Court, 1963. Courtesy of the Archaeological
Exploration of Sardis 132
4.9 The first architrave of the screen colonnade is moved into position,
1970. Courtesy of the Archaeological Exploration of Sardis 133
4.10 Reconstruction of the façade of Marble Court, 1970. Courtesy of
the Archaeological Exploration of Sardis 134
5.1 Illustration of Gediz plain from Sardis, ca. 1750. Giovanni Battista
Borra. Courtesy of the Yale University Archives 146
5.2 Illustration of Gediz plain, ca. 1750. Giovanni Battista Borra. Bird’s
Eye view of Bin Tepe and Marmara Lake. Courtesy of the Yale
University Archives 146
5.3 The Gygean Lake and the Place of the Thousand Tombs, Asia
Minor, 1836. Illustration from Constantinople and the Scenery of
the Seven Churches of Asia Minor illustrated, With an historical
Account of Constantinople, and Descriptions of the Plates, London/​
Paris, Fisher, Son & Co. (1836–​38), by Robert Walsh and Thomas
Allom. Courtesy of the author 147
5.4 The Acropolis of Sardis, 1838. Illustration from Constantinople
and the Scenery of the Seven Churches of Asia Minor illustrated,
With an historical Account of Constantinople, and Descriptions of
the Plates, London/​Paris, Fisher, Son & Co. (1836-​38), by Robert
Walsh and Thomas Allom. Courtesy of the author 148

xii | Figures
5.5 Sardis, View of Gediz Plain From Top (of the Acropolis), 1902.
Courtesy of the Oriental Institute, University of Chicago 148
5.6 View of Sardis. Plain looking North towards tombs of Lydian kings,
1908. Courtesy of the Oriental Institute, University of Chicago 149
5.7 Entry to the tunnel of Karnıyarık, 2009. Courtesy of the author 152
5.8 Illustration of excavations at Karınıyarık Tepe, Bin Tepe, 1962. By
C.H. Greenewalt. Archaeological Exploration of Sardis. Courtesy
of the author 152
5.9 Water pump on the edge of Lake Marmara, 2016. Courtesy of the
author 159
5.10 First tractor, 1961. Courtesy of the Şener family 162
5.11 Agricultural equipment in Bin Tepe, 2011. Courtesy of the
author 171
5.12 Organic olive groves and other agriculture abutting the tumulus of
Alyattes, Bin Tepe. Farmer on tractor is seen in the foreground,
2017. Courtesy of the author 172
5.13 Electric transmission towers carry power from Demırköprü Dam
through Bin Tepe toward Izmir, 2017. The towers dwarf tumuli in
Bin Tepe, including the second largest, Karnıyarık, also known as
“American Tepe,” 2017. Courtesy of the author 173
5.14 Scarecrow protects tobacco fields (foreground) in in Bin Tepe. In
the background are olive groves, 2017. Courtesy of the author 174

Figures | xiii
TABLES

1.1 Key Ministries (and Protection Councils) Related to Management

of Forests and Cultural Heritage in Turkey 28
2.1 Members of the American Society for the Excavation of Sardis 51
2.2 Members of the Hellenic Council 62
2.3 U.S. signees of the AIA initiative at the 1919 Paris Peace
Conference 62
2.4 Signees of Buckler’s Memorandum on the policy of the United
States Relative to the Treaty With Turkey, 26 November 1919 66
2.5 Key personnel involved in the in-​country diplomacy at Sardis 70
2.6 Population data before and after Greek occupation near Sart.
Provided by W.R. Berry in his 1921 Report to the Sardis
Society 71
3.1 Regions in Turkey with over 200 tractors by 1950 94
4.1 Members of the U.S. Advisory Committee to the Salvage of Abu
Simbel. A. H. Detweiler Archives, Cornell University 112
FOREWORD

I n the summer of 2014 two young women from a small village in

western Turkey visited the US Embassy in Ankara. Both were attending
universities in Izmir. They had been invited by friends to visit the United
States. The friends were archaeologists who had worked for almost a
decade in the region where the women had grown up. Their travel plans
fell apart when the US Embassy denied their visas on grounds that they
could not show sufficient proof that they intended to return to Turkey. They
were presumed guilty of flight before they had even been given permission
to leave the country.
After consulting with Turkish lobby groups in the US, their second
application was more robust. It included land deeds, statements from
bank accounts, high school and college transcripts, and letters from the
archaeologists (who held positions at US institutions). Their visas were
denied a second time. Others familiar with similar situations told the
young women that if they applied again and were denied a third time, they
would be blacklisted for the next decade. They did not apply again.
During an unrelated meeting at the American Research Institute in
Turkey (ARIT) in Ankara, I asked an American diplomat from the US
Embassy for guidance about this case. She informed me that this was
“unofficial-​official” US policy: young, foreign women were a flight risk,
and could too easily become a burden on American resources. No public
data were available to demonstrate that this was true. In less than the three
minutes it took for each woman to present her case to the officer, the US
Consular section in Ankara undercut decades of US–​Turkish relations and
diplomatic practice in the middle Gediz Valley. There was a history here
going back to 1947. The Americans had built the roads in the region, and
the farmers claimed to owe their sovereignty to the US Marshall Plan, to
Marshall himself, a point I made to the American diplomat.
The diplomat dismissed my explanation, “Oh, you are mistaken; the
Marshall Plan was never in Turkey.” Perhaps feeling less certain, the dip-
lomat reluctantly asked me for a quick lesson in US historical relations
in Turkey. This included a small, but significant and targeted, amount
of support from the US Marshall Plan. The families of these two young
women were perfect examples of what it had set out to accomplish: to
make rural farmers, and formerly those who practiced transhumance,
prosperous entrepreneurs who would cultivate a set of social practices and
opportunities for their children.
This book is not about visas, nor is it about Turkish lobbying in the
hallways of US Congress to combat “unofficial-​official” policies. Those
topics are for a different book. This book is about the Gediz Valley and the
landscapes where these young women grew up and went to college, and
the deeply rooted perceptions and judgments held by foreign countries and
their diplomats about class, identity, assistance packages, and heritage.
The US Marshall Plan is only one small part of how the US and other
foreign interest groups—​public and private—​have strategically positioned
themselves such that their policies have had—​and continue to have—​a
vast impact on those who live in this region. But Turkish citizens in their
early twenties, while they are likely familiar with the significance of the
social engineering practices of the Republic of Turkey, are often unaware
of just how much their lives have been influenced by policies dictated not
only by Turkey but also by foreign entities. These policies have affected
access to education and have reshaped cities and rural landscapes.
The US policies and programs that preceded the Marshall Plan, such as
the 1933 Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA), and the ideological struggles
of the interwar period between Soviet, US, and European visions for
Turkey have not been fully understood. The study of how these forces
positioned heritage in Turkey is also in its infancy. A lack of coordination
among the agricultural and cultural sectors, too, has resulted in growing
tensions regarding public and private ownership and, in turn, access to so-
cial mobility.
This book opens up these topics for consideration in the context of the
Gediz Valley in western Turkey. My decision to unpack these narratives
began in May 2011, when I had a fellowship from the National Endowment
of the Humanities (NEH) and ARIT to spend a year in Izmir to research
heritage management. I was exploring the archaeological site of Bin Tepe
and the relationship between farming in rural landscapes and management

xviii | Foreword
of archaeological sites subject to the tractor’s plow. Looking for infor-
mation about tractors in Turkey, I came across Richard Robinson’s 1952
article, “Tractors in the Village: A Study from Turkey.” It focused on US
intervention in Adana, but much was familiar to me. Years of conversations
with local communities in the Gediz suddenly fell into place.
I realized that many of the roads I drove, the water I drank, and the
food I ate was an outcome of US policies. Such development programs
were also the primary reasons why heritage had become celebrated, for-
gotten, even hated. My conviction to tell these stories in a book was further
strengthened the day these two young women were denied their visas. It
was through my journey with them, their families, and my own family that
I realized the degree to which “policies with a purpose” and “diplomatic
deliverables” from heritage to agriculture had created an impossible web
of entangled misunderstandings and years of mistrust that showed no signs
of becoming clearer.
In the face of the rapid development that is engulfing Turkey, driven by
forces of globalization from Canada to China, economic policies and leg-
islation promoting highways, trains, mines, and dams have become very
fluid. The same can be said for how Turkey has responded to their presen-
tation of heritage on the international stage, notably through UNESCO’s
World Heritage Committee and its lists. Yet, internally, survey, excavation,
and restoration practices in Turkey have become increasingly contested
and convoluted. This book begins to uncover the role of the United States
in heritage tensions from the late nineteenth century to the present day.

Foreword | xix
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

T his book is a result of interdisciplinary work that has extended over

the last decade. I’ve pulled together ethnographic and archaeological
survey data from work in the middle Gediz Valley, which I co-​directed with
Christopher H. Roosevelt under the Central Lydia Archaeological Survey
(CLAS). CLAS was diachronic in its approach to survey, from Paleolithic
to present. In addition to standard archaeological survey, it also explored
how recent histories over the last century or so have shaped people’s
perceptions and reactions to heritage. We worked with those engaged in
farming, fishing, and development, from highways to marble quarries.
In seeking to understand better archaeological zoning, team members
consulted archives. At first these included the mapping and municipal
offices in Akhisar, Gölmarmara, Adala, Alaşehir, Salihli, Manisa, and
Izmir. Discussions with the State Water Works at the Demirköprü dam,
Salihli, and Izmir branches were also extremely enlightening, as were
meetings with local tourism offices, directorates of agriculture and live-
stock in Manisa, and the head mining office in Izmir.
It was through this fieldwork and associated research that I realized
the potential for an article. My editor at Oxford, Sarah Humphreville first
inspired me to consider how it might come about into a book. Our first
conversation was about publishing data from CLAS in a typical survey
volume. She asked what else I was working on. I described the initial seeds
of this project, and she noticed a dramatic shift in my voice. It was her en-
couragement that pushed me toward the initial outline and ultimately the
final manuscript.
My continued research revealed that much of the major development in
the region had been done during the 1930s, and especially the late 1940s to
1960s, often with US funding. This led me to the Turkish National Archives
in Ankara and the US National Archives in Washington, D.C., and then to
the US National Archives in Atlanta where the records of the Tennessee
Valley Authority (TVA) are kept. Expert archivist Maureen Hill was very
kind to sort through files. TVA’s linkages to interwar tensions led me to
the archives of the Le Corbusier Foundation in Switzerland, where archi-
vist Isabelle Godineau was very gracious in assisting me. I also consulted
the presidential archives of John F. Kennedy in Boston, the Smithsonian’s
archives in Washington, D.C., and with the archivist for UNESCO, Adele
Torrance and the time of Lynn Meskell, I was able to review key files from
the interwar period. From there, I visited the Ahmet Piriştina City Archives
and Museum, Izmir, where Director Ayşe Üngör and her staff, especially
Onur Eryeşil, were extremely gracious with their time. The networks
described in diplomatic cables, personal correspondences, and policy
documents housed in these various archives had uncanny similarities to
stories told to me by elders in tea houses, and in several cases, to small
snippets of “local events” revealed in the archaeological newsletters from
Sardis and Turkish newspapers.
Further details regarding policies are embedded in the correspond-
ence files and photographs of archaeologists. These include the papers
of William Hepburn Buckler at Yale University, where archivist Jessica
Becker provided needed guidance. Further details about Buckler’s col-
league Howard Crosby Butler came through the archives at Princeton
University. The support and encouragement of Julia Gearhart, archivist
at Princeton, became invaluable. Her time to explore Butler’s letters,
folders, and images that had not previously been given digitization priority
at Princeton enabled me to gain access to these unpublished voices and
images. Other images were discovered in the collections of the Gennadius
Library of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens (ASCSA).
Senior Librarian Irini Solomonidi and reference archivist and historian
Eleftheria Daleziou as well as archivist Natalia Vogeikoff at ASCSA
were all extremely helpful. Early images of the region at the University
of Chicago, too, give us critical pictures of the region before major infra-
structural changes, and Andrew Wright gave his time in sorting through
the early twentieth-​century images taken by Olmstead and Harris archived
at the Oriental Institute.
For the mid-​twentieth-​century voices, the most informative sources
were the personal correspondences of archaeologist George M.A.
Hanfmann, archived in the Widener Library at Harvard, and those of ar-
chitect A. Henry Detweiler, archived at Cornell University. Additional

xxii | Acknowledgments
details were also found in the archives of the Archaeological Institute of
America (AIA), the American Schools of Oriental Research (ASOR), the
Sardis archives (Harvard and Cornell offices, and the excavation house),
and the archives of the Museum of Fine Arts (MFA), Boston. Specific
individuals in each of these places made this work possible: Kevin
Mullen and Julia Grabianowski at the AIA; Andy Vaughan at ASOR;
Baha Yıldırım, Elizabeth Gombosi, and Katherine Keifer at Sardis; Laura
Gadbury at the MFA, Boston. In addition, the late Professor Crawford
H. Greenewalt, Jr., shared his personal files and perspectives on infor-
mation embedded in Hanfmann’s letters as well as his personal archive
of photographs and correspondence regarding the seventeenth-​through
early twentieth-​century work at Sardis and during the Turkish War of
Independence. He also shared insights regarding the initial developments
at Pomza and the long-​term developments in Bin Tepe. Conversations with
Nancy Ramage, David Mitten, Clive Foss, Teoman Yalçınkaya, and the
on-​site Sardis staff were also extremely valuable. As I cross-​checked as
many of the events told to me and referred to in correspondences with how
they were (or were not) portrayed in US, UK, and Turkish newspapers,
I uncovered further networks.
Throughout this research, I also spent time in the field. I walked with
farmers over their lands, discussed details over tea during rainy winter
days, and spent time harvesting crops. I attended the International Fairs
in Izmir focused on organic agriculture, and visited the warehouses and
primary business establishments of Turkish and foreign companies. My
approach to understanding more about extraction in the provinces of
Izmir, Manisa, Uşak, and Istanbul followed a similar approach. I visited
coal mines in Soma, nickel mines in Turgutlu, and gold mines in Manisa
and Uşak. I toured marble quarries in Manisa and Izmir. Public relations
officers and specialists at the mines and quarries graciously toured me
around. I also attended international fairs for mining and marble held in
Istanbul and Izmir.
Over the years, many colleagues and students have offered their time
to have conversations with me and have invited me to present my re-
search at their institutions, and many graciously read draft chapters.
Various aspects of this research have been presented as part of the AIA
Nancy Wilkie lecture series in 2013–​2014 as well as in individual talks
at the American Academy in Rome, the Anthropology Department
at Cornell University, the Cultural Heritage Center at the University
of Pennsylvania (especially discussions with Richard Leventhal and
Brian Daniels), the Center for Archaeology at Stanford University, Koç

Acknowledgments | xxiii
University (Research Center for Anatolian Civilizations in 2009 and
Alessandra Ricci’s 2016 Pubic Archaeology course in the Department
of Archaeology and History of Art) in Istanbul, Mimar Sinan University
in Istanbul, the Oriental Institute at the University of Chicago (and
discussions with Morag Kersel at DePaul University), and Yaşar
University in Izmir. Feedback from students and faculty who attended
these lectures was invaluable.
I am very grateful for comments on drafts of the manuscript. Colleagues
were very patient with me and took their time to read and comment on
the text. These include Camille Cole, Erdem Kabadayı, Mehmet Kentel,
Emmanuel Moss, Chris Roosevelt, Zeynep Türkyılmaz, Fikret Yegül, and
Kathryn Lefrenz Samuels. Lynn Meskell’s valuable insights and encour-
agement, too, have been especially wonderful. Fikret’s detailed comments
on aspects about Sardis, both the early nineteenth-​century work of Butler
and more recent endeavors, were extremely important. Kathryn and Zeynep
provided their critical insights into extraction studies, and Mehmet into in-
frastructure studies. Chris Roosevelt graciously read and commented on
the entire manuscript, and more than that, he kept me focused on the end
goal. Their suggestions for clarifications and improvements in wording
have made the manuscript stronger.
Over the last three years, my research assistants at Koç University have
tracked down key sources. Elif Doğan carefully worked through archives
about US intervention in the Gediz as well as zoning and legal files
pertaining to agriculture and extraction. Zeynep Kuşdil, Zeynep Özdemir,
and Levent Tokün reviewed publications and archives about the Izmir
International Fair and the Kültürpark. In addition, members of CLAS were
helpful in the research about water management. Elvan Cobb, especially,
took part in the initiative fieldwork, as did Nedim Büyükyüksel, Nicolas
Guathier, and Kyle Egerer. Ebru Kiras and Tunç Kaner, too, have spent
time in local museums and touring the region with me. The communities
in villages throughout the Gediz Valley, too, were gracious with their time,
sharing not only oral histories but also family photos and archives.
Archival work often requires travel. Friends opened their homes to me
during my visits to various cities. This was an opportunity to not only at-
tend to my scholarship but also reconnect with people who have inspired
me—​and the people who reminded me to get out, to do other things. My
extended family, too, made sure that this book did not consume me. They
also were supportive when our immediate family moved to Turkey, and
through the turbulent times of 2015 and 2016 in Istanbul, they trusted our
decision to stay put.

xxiv | Acknowledgments
 Even still, two young men have been thrown into this study without
choice, and it is to them that I owe a tremendous debt. They will have
grown up primarily abroad in Istanbul, and with long stints in Izmir as
well as two villages in Manisa. Their dry humor and understanding are as
much a part of who they are as my husband’s steadfast encouragement of
my research and his unfailing support for my time to pursue it, however
odd it may have seemed at the time. I’ve benefited tremendously from his
depth of knowledge of Anatolian archaeology and the practice of it. Upon
reflection, this journey began the day we witnessed a backhoe scraping
away the slopes of the Sardis Necropolis as our puppy ran circles in the
shadows of the Temple of Artemis.

Acknowledgments | xxv
ABBREVIATIONS

ACLS American Council of Learned Societies

AIA Archaeological Institute of America (US)
ASCSA American School of Classical Studies at Athens (US)
ASOR American Schools of Oriental Research (US)
CIA Central Intelligence Agency, US
CIAM International Congress of Modern Architecture
CLAS Central Lydia Archaeological Survey
CSR Corporate Social Responsibility
EEC European Economic Community
EIA Environmental Impact Assessment
EU European Union
FDI foreign direct investment
IBA Important Bird and Biodiversity Area
IBRD International Bank for Reconstruction and Development
ICIC International Committee on Intellectual Cooperation
ICOM International Council of Museums
ICOMOS International Council on Monuments and Sites
IMF International Monetary Fund
IMO International Museum Office
IUCN International Union for Conservation of Nature
JAMMAT Joint American Military Mission for Aid to Turkey
KAP Kaymakçı Archaeological Project
KTA Knappen Tippetts Abbett Engineering Company of
New York
MDG Millennium Development Goals
MET Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
MFA Museum of Fine Arts, Boston
MNC multinational corporation
NATO North Atlantic Treaty Organization
NEH National Endowment for the Humanities (US)
NSF National Science Foundation (US)
OECD Organisation for Economic Co-​operation and Development
OUV Outstanding Universal Value
PL 480 Agricultural Trade Development and Assistance Act
PPP Public-​Private Partnership
TAMS Tippetts, Abbett, McCarthy, and Stratton
TNC transnational corporation
TVA Tennessee Valley Authority (US)
UN United Nations
UNESCO United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural
Organization
UNDP United Nations Development Programme
USAID United States Agency for International Development

Archives

AES The Archaeological Exploration of Sardis

AHD A. Henry Detweiler Correspondence
AIA Archaeological Institute of America
APCA Ahmet Piriştina City Archives and Museum, Izmir
ASES American Society for the Excavation of Sardis
ASOR American Schools of Oriental Research, Boston
CU Cornell University
DAA Department of Art and Archaeology
HCB Howard Crosby Butler Correspondence
HU Harvard University
JFK John F. Kennedy Presidential Library
LCF Le Corbusier Foundation
MA Manuscripts and Archives
MFA Museum of Fine Arts, Boston Archives
NA United States National Archives
PU Princeton University
SC Sardis Correspondence

xxviii | Abbreviations
SM Smithsonian Institution
TNA Turkish National Archives
TVA Tennessee Valley Authority Archives
UC University of Chicago Archives
WHB William Hepburn Buckler Correspondence
WUA Widener University Archives
YU Yale University Library

Abbreviations | xxix
A Pearl in Peril
 Introduction
Pillars of Policy

I woke with this marble head in my hands; it exhausts my elbow and

I don’t know where to put it down. It was falling into the dream as
I was coming out of the dream so our life became one and it will be
very difficult for it to separate again.
—​“Mythistorema,” By George Seferis, 19351

Look at beautiful Izmir, look at the golden necklace

The pearl of the Mediterranean, the leader in production
See producers and buyers exchange, let the world watch in
astonishment
Let the crowds fill the fair, [my sweetheart] let’s meet at the fair.
—​“Bakışları Hovarda, Buluşalım Fuarda,” by Sadettin
Kaynak, 19392

In Izmir, it is definitely Middle Eastern, with a heavy overlay of

remembrances of things Greek. . . . Turkey has also been changed
from one country to a completely different country because of a
tremendous amount of foreign help.
—​
Interview with US diplomat Wilbur P. Chase, 19903

On a crisp, clear June day in 2012, I ventured to Kadifekale, Izmir’s high

castle, with a colleague and her students. We’d come to purchase conser-
vation supplies in the maze of Kemeraltı. I knew that the castle was slated
for restoration, and that much of the slope between Kadifekale, the ancient
agora below, and the Jewish and Ottoman heritage of Kemeraltı were part
of ongoing gentrification programs. So, too, was I aware of the displace-
ment of entire neighborhoods along the slopes of Kadifekale, some having
been in place for close to fifty years.4 Without deeds, more than seven
thousand people living in “squatter” or “shanty” settlements (gecekondu)
had limited legal recourse. Despite this recent tortured history, we stopped
to admire the expansive view of the bay and a few of the key features in
the city below: the towers of the Hilton Hotel, the Kültürpark, the Kordon,
and the bustling international port. At our feet was a new public park with
fresh plantings in straight rows and decorative benches. As we began our
discussion with the students, an elderly man with a traditional Muslim
head covering (takke) and a tethered goat emerged from the nearby neigh-
borhood. In a matter of minutes the man slit the goat’s throat, and blood
seeped onto the stones of the park.
The histories of Izmir and Smyrna, as she was known among Europeans
prior to 1922, and her countryside are not easy.5 The past in Izmir is often
described as too difficult, best forgotten. The municipality hopes that gen-
trification will draw tourists, Turkish and foreign, into the city proper.
Urban renewal, however, is a challenge in this city. Many continue to iden-
tify with the profound sense of loss and abandonment, as portrayed by
George Seferis’ 1935 poem Mythistorema.6 This is not merely nostalgia,
nor is it a mythologizing of historical events where reality has been radi-
cally blurred. While the 1922 “Asia Minor Catastrophe” has been infused
in US diplomatic memory as the period when the West lost the doorstep of
Anatolia, it has come to embody the deep misunderstandings by and mis-
trust of foreign powers about the complexities of western Turkey.7
To be sure, there are also narratives that speak to the revival of the city
after the fires of 1922, the reawakening of Izmir, and the importance of
this region on the global stage. In 1939 Sadettin Kaynak’s lyrics, quoted at
the outset, marked the economic success of Izmir’s International Fair. This
city, the “golden necklace,” symbolized “the pearl of the Mediterranean,
the leader in production.” The juxtaposition between US diplomatic wist-
fulness for what could have been and Sadettin’s account of Izmir’s re-
vival demonstrated the vexed position of this region in the 1930s and
foreshadowed a future of political intrigue and economic competition.
Today Izmir is Turkey’s third largest metropolitan area. During the
early twentieth century a cosmopolitan lifestyle here rivaled those of other
eastern Mediterranean ports: Alexandria, Beirut, and Athens. Muslim
communities reportedly referred to the city as “gavur” (infidel) Izmir.8
Despite the city’s reputation as among the most liberal in Turkey, mi-
nority groups have slowly dwindled over the years. The Jewish exodus
in the late 1940s and early 1950s has been followed with more punctu-
ated periods of departure, most recently Spain’s June 2015 invitation for

2 | Introduction
Iberian Sephardic Jews expelled in the fifteenth century to return.9 Other
groups, such as Greeks and Armenians, and the Levantine communities,
too, have seen their numbers diminish. Even so, the city cultivates its lib-
eral image and its steadfast alliance with the Kemalist Republican People’s
Party (CHP, Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi), the counter party to the Justice and
Development Party (AKP, Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi).
This tension seeps into Izmir’s hinterland, especially along the Gediz
River valley and into the regions of Manisa and Uşak. Agricultural fields,
dams, stone and gravel quarries, and gold mines supply Izmir with food,
water, electricity, and materials for export. Unlike liberal Izmir, however, the
politics of the hinterland reflect shades of grey with pockets of support not
only for CHP and AKP, but also for the Nationalist Movement Party (MHP,
Milliyetçi Hareket Partisi). The mosaic of politics creates an eclectic environ-
ment that intermingles the diversity embedded in the past with new visions
for the future. Through this lens, Izmir and her surrounding regions may
never be what foreigners planned for her; nevertheless, she is comfortable in
her own skin, a city and a countryside with a set of subtle, cosmopolitan so-
cial codes open to the outside world, yet also weary of it given the collective
memory of trauma and distrust.
Over the last decade, the majority of foreign representatives (for
example, John Deere (US), Pepsi (US), International Harvester (US),
Bosch (German), and Gaz Group (Russian))​who have attended the in-
ternational fairs held in Izmir’s Kültürpark were unaware of the tortured
histories on which they stood: the Armenian neighborhoods between
Alsancak and Basmane had been scorched in the fires of September
1922.10 Those were the final hours of the Turkish War of Independence,
when the military forces led by Mustafa Kemal drove Greek mili-
tary forces from Asia Minor. The infamous flames destroyed much of
Smyrna, just as other fires had razed towns and villages inland during
the course of the Greek military occupation and retreat (May 15, 1919–​
September 9, 1922). The cultural landscapes of Izmir are imbued with
this date, such as the 9th of September University and the Kültürpark’s
9th of September Gate.11
Eighty years later, sentiments of sorrow resurface each September in the
annual celebrations of liberation from Greek forces in the Gediz Valley,
as each town commemorates its respective victory day. The festivities,
supported by local municipalities and governorships, culminate in Izmir
on the 9th of September. Enormous Turkish flags and banners of Turkey’s
first president, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, wrap buildings. At 9:00 a.m.
canons fire into the bay, where further out battleships take position.

Introduction | 3
At midday military planes buzz the city. Evening bands play until after
midnight, when fireworks light the night sky. Between the canons and
the fireworks, parades of schoolchildren, clubs, sports teams, police,
and Jandarma march through the streets and along the waterfront of the
Kordon (an open green space and public park along the Izmir bay) toward
Republican Square.
Here citizens gather to hear officials speak. They stand in the shadow
of the 1932 bronze equestrian statue of Atatürk by Italian sculptor Pietro
Canonica (Figure I.1). Atatürk’s right arm is raised and his forefinger
points toward the sea. His command still resonates: “Soldiers, your goal is
the Mediterranean.” The performance of this image forms part of a coun-
trywide mental map and a national consciousness that solidifies Izmir’s
Kordon in the official historiography of the Turkish War of Independence.12
This is the heritage that many find too painful to discuss, yet compulsory
to commemorate.

Figure I.1 Atatürk sculpture by Italian sculptor Canonica, Izmir. Photo by H. Basak.
Courtesy of Creative Commons.

4 | Introduction
 The millions of national and foreign tourists who have flocked to the
shores of the Aegean beaches and traversed the Classical ruins of Ephesus,
Aphrodisias, and Halicarnassus—​among others—​that dot the country-
side, however, are mostly ignorant of the decades of deceptive diplomacy
that have shaped the contemporary Republic of Turkey, and Izmir and
her hinterland specifically. Nonetheless, it is precisely the well-​trodden
Kültürpark, the tourist zones of archaeological sites, infrastructure projects
for roads and water, and the newly gentrified neighborhoods that give us a
glimpse of foreign intervention in the final decades of the Ottoman Empire
and subsequently after the rise of the Republic. For over a century, archae-
ology and preservation have been pawns caught in political moments that
can be traced to careless diplomatic practices, poorly spent development
dollars, heavy-​handed ideological frameworks, and the evolving strategies
of security.
Intersections between the nation-​state, heritage, and archaeology have
been emboldened by recent political platforms, foreign and national, that
merge ethnicity and religion into narrow categories that are often unreal-
istic for daily life. This practice creates an untenable situation whereby
people, countries, and regions are forced into categories defined by
authorities and state actors, rather than a flexible and fluid process that
enables self-​identification and associated place-​making. Staged destruc-
tion of heritage by insurgent groups in Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Yemen,
and Libya has given UNESCO’s World Heritage Center renewed visibility.
These shock-​and-​awe events have also been met with rallying calls to ramp
up global preservation efforts.13 This process has in turn resulted in greater
prestige for World Heritage nominations and renewed focus on the rights
of minority groups and heritage governance in the name of “the global
good.” The practice in reality, however, is a different matter. Policies that
support mobility and sanctuary, particularly rhetoric that emphasizes “safe
havens” and “safe passage” for diaspora and refugee groups, often appro-
priate heritage for political ends.

At the center of these global debates lies modern-​day Turkey. There is

steady media coverage regarding the future of Turkey vis-​à-​vis stability
in the Middle East, Europe, and Central Asia as it pertains to political
structures, military agendas, and civil society. Politicians in Europe and the
United States still struggle with the “Eastern Question” and Turkey’s geo-
political position.14 The years between 2015 and 2018 have been especially
turbulent. Flooded by refugees from Syria and Iraq, Turkey has become

Introduction | 5
Europe’s indispensable buffer zone.15 New networks for smuggling—​from
people to materials—​across the Iraqi and Syrian borders into Turkey have
fostered illicit networks in all spheres, including the trade in antiquities.16
So, too, have global conversations and events brought contested spheres of
heritage to light in Turkey.
During the 40th World Heritage session in Istanbul in 2016, concerns
about places of minority heritage in Turkey were whispered over teas and
coffees. The topic, however, was not openly debated. Still, the sentiments
were implicit during the deliberations and carefully crafted political
speeches in response to the inscription of the Archaeological Site of Ani,
the former Armenian capital of this medieval kingdom, which occurred
on the afternoon of July 14, 2016. Less than a month earlier, the German
Parliament had voted to recognize the 1915–​1916 massacres of Armenians
as a targeted effort; the Turkish government did not agree with this vote.17
In retaliation, Turkey recalled its ambassador and withheld 2016 German
permits for archaeological research. On the floor of the World Heritage
session, one would have never known about this and other related tensions
regarding Armenian heritage and history. In a show of support for future
collaboration, Turkish and Armenian diplomats called for shared dialogue
and transnational partnerships. A great sense of hope pervaded the room.
The attempted military coup in Turkey that evening dampened this glow—​
the delegates huddled in their hotel rooms as planes took to the skies and
tanks blocked the bridges over the Bosphorus. The meetings were sus-
pended until late October 2016 in Paris, yet civil society groups in Turkey
looked to the Ani inscription for future promise of increased dialogue.18
In video footage from the World Heritage session, Osman Kavala is
shown taking pictures of Ambassador Vahram Kazhoyan, Secretary
General of the Armenian National Commission for UNESCO, during his
speech. Kavala is the executive director of Anadolu Kültür known for cul-
tural heritage activities (including at Ani). A year later, on October 18,
2017, Kavala was detained by police at Istanbul’s Atatürk International
Airport, and in the early morning hours of November 2nd was formally
arrested.19 The legacy of the Kavala family is particularly poignant: they
were relocated from northern Greece (Kavala) in the population exchanges
following the Turkish War of Independence.

The Turkish–​Greek population exchanges of 1923 focused first and fore-

most on religious identity, whereby Muslim families were made to leave
Greek territory and emigrate to Turkey and vice versa.20 Foreshadowing of

6 | Introduction
these future tensions was clear during the 1919 Paris Peace negotiations.
At these sessions voices from Turkey were not heard, even symbolically;
others spoke for them. In the proposed Treaty of Sèvres, Articles 140–​151
sought protection of minorities, and along similar lines Article 230 sought
resolution and restitution of personal property and persecution of crimes
committed against minority groups during World War I in Ottoman terri-
tories; yet on the other hand, Part 9 (Economic Clauses), Part 10 (Aerial
Navigation), and Part 11 (Ports, Waterways, and Railways) detailed the
extent to which Turkey was expected to abide by Allied ambitions for for-
eign concessions and business arrangements.
Sèvres also offered a template for the Allies to push their vision for
the management of antiquity. This included the desired territories detailed
in Article 66. The intended boundary for Greek occupation in western
Asia Minor would have subsumed the Classical sites of Ephesus, Sardis,
Philadelphia, and Pergamon—​and the respective fertile river valleys and
mountain ranges with significant resources ripe for development (e.g., ag-
riculture and extraction). The underlying agenda of the Greek campaign
was to revisit and pursue the Megali Idea—​a dream of sovereignty over
zones with claims to Hellenic history.21 Proposed in the mid-​nineteenth
century by Greek Prime Minister Ioannis Kolettis and King Otto, the
general concept figured prominently into discussions of 1919 in Paris.
British Prime Minister Lloyd George and US President Woodrow Wilson
agreed not to thwart Greek intentions.22 Among the most ardent advocates
was career diplomat George Horton, a fervent Philhellene who had served
as US Consul in Smyrna (1911–​1917, 1919–​1922), US Consul in Athens
(1893–​1898, 1905–​1906), and US Consul in Salonika (1910–​1911).23
Classical archaeology played a significant role in establishing jurisdic-
tion in Smyrna’s hinterland, as noted in Article 421 of Sèvres:

The Turkish Government will, within twelve months from the coming into
force of the present Treaty, abrogate the existing law of antiquities and take
the necessary steps to enact a new law of antiquities which will be based
on the rules contained in the Annex hereto, and must be submitted to the
Financial Commission for approval before being submitted to the Turkish
Parliament. The Turkish Government undertakes to ensure the execution of
this law on a basis of perfect equality between all nations.

Both Articles 66 and 421 sought to empower an “International Commission

for Antiquities for the administration of historic monuments in Turkish
lands, acting as the mandatory of the League of Nations.”24 For the most

Introduction | 7
Figure I.2 Map of Treaty of Sèvres and featuring E. Venizelos. Courtesy of the
American School of Classical Studies at Athens, Gennadius Library.

part, news about discussions in Paris focused primarily on the urban hub
of Smyrna; considerations about the vast territory encompassed under the
proposed area were less present. And yet, it was the hinterland that many
sought: access to mines, fertile river valleys, infrastructure (train lines),
and archaeological sites of interest. In Figure I.2, Greek Prime Minister

8 | Introduction
Eleftherios Venizelos is shown above a map that details the territory of
Smyrna placed under Greek jurisdiction.
The Treaty of Sèvres was never legally promulgated, and thus the desires
of the Allies were never fully realized. The Treaty of Lausanne (signed
July 24, 1923) did not include provisions for the management of archae-
ological sites nor objects. Nonetheless, the correspondences of those who
participated in the discussions in Paris and activities in Asia Minor at the
time give a compelling history of how archaeologists participated in the art
of diplomatic practice in a symbolic city and a coveted countryside. We’re
now in a position to reflect on the consequences of these choices over the
last century.

I approach heritage studies from the perspective of development and ask

how and why heritage becomes entangled by heritage statecraft, corpo-
rate contracts, and, more broadly, practices of social engineering.25 I’m
especially interested in patterns of top-​down paternalism displayed when
authorities define and enforce social codes of conduct for communities.
This is common in nationalist agendas and is woven into the fabric of
urban planning and education. It is also a common rationale for assis-
tance programs by “developed” nations for “underdeveloped” nations, the
former offering moral authority through a set of standardized ideas and
implementation procedures, usually linked to economics, politics, and
persuasion.
In 1919 archaeologists sought an international commission to oversee
archaeology in Turkey. Today, heritage statecraft includes concentrated
and sustained efforts to push forward with dossier preparation for World
Heritage nominations for sites with Outstanding Universal Value (OUV).
The United Nations pledges a transparent, untainted review process. That
scholarship reveals the opposite should not be surprising.26 For centuries,
nations have manipulated history for their own purposes.27 In the early
1930s, for example, Turkey drew extensively, yet selectively, from ar-
chaeology when constructing her collective identity and narrative of
self-​protection under the new Republic.28 With each revisionist approach,
whether in Turkey or elsewhere, the past can be carefully reconfigured, re-​
evaluated, and understood anew with the sweep of a single event, whether
due to social discourse, political pressure, military intervention, or natural
disaster.
Studies regarding World Heritage in Turkey have produced an abun-
dance of literature.29 In fact, many sites owe their current performance

Introduction | 9
on the global stage to foreign assistance programs that occurred decades
before the 1972 World Heritage Convention. These histories of “aid,”
however, rarely grace the pages of World Heritage documents. At best,
those who funded the projects receive a few sentences. Without a deeper
look into the initial policies and research that framed knowledge about
the respective sites and the agendas of those who funded the projects,
many analyses of World Heritage areas remain floating in time. A crit-
ical analysis of the legacies of promise, the unheard voices, and hidden
histories allow for a more nuanced perspective of how heritage comes to
be defined, challenged, erased, forgotten, and resurrected. These issues
raise their heads now through the interests of international and national
foundations, criteria for competitive grants, and increasingly Corporate
Social Responsibility (CSR) programs that are branded as a moral face of
neoliberalism.30
In the chapters that follow, I trace and analyze the operations of diplo-
matic and archaeological practice and actions of development that have
sought to create and realign territories of heritage over the last century. In
each chapter I consider the major policies, both national and international,
that helped to shape the development sector in question, and in turn the
landscapes of the middle Gediz Valley, the zone that feeds and waters the
city of Izmir and beyond the Mediterranean Sea.

Chapter Overviews

At the heart of the analysis that follows is the issue of policy. Often
presented as a moral framework that is softer than law, policy in general
offers greater potential for dialogue. Yet, precisely because policy can be
flexible, it may assist in shifting legal frameworks more quickly than we
might think, especially when we’re considering a policy change that will
usher in major revenue to state coffers and the pockets of the private sector.
Under these conditions, it is possible for policies in one sphere to change
much more quickly than in another. Scholarship has shown just how
poorly we currently understand transnational approaches to development
and social engineering.31 Throughout the course of this study, I examine
punctuated periods of policy changes that occur during the realignment of
international territories, nation building, neoliberalism, and most recently
transnational corporatism.
Among the fastest-​moving areas of new policy in Turkey is the robust
and aggressive industry of extraction, and it is for this reason that I begin

10 | Introduction
Chapter 1 with this topic. In addition to coal, natural stone and gold are the
top resources extracted from the hinterlands of Izmir, most often made pos-
sible through transnational partnerships and CSR programs. Hillsides are
shaved and penetrated by the aggressive marble and limestone quarrying
industry to feed the ever-​growing appetite for cement and designer stone
markets. Yet, local communities aren’t always pleased by these operations.
I illustrate one case study where the community pushed back using archae-
ological zoning.
For the growing industry of technology and the ever-​shaky financial
systems, gold is the metal of choice. Located 180 kilometers east of Izmir
is the largest gold mine in Europe. At the Kışladağ mine in the province
of Uşak, Tüprag and its Canadian parent company, the Eldorado Gold
Corporation, oversee operations. Tüprag’s successful CSR programs have
engendered a culture of acceptance for large-​scale extraction because so-
cial mobility in the rural areas of Uşak has been considerable. Smaller-​
scale gold mines, such as Pomza Export in the province of Manisa, have
also been able to leverage the favorable climate for extraction and to pro-
mote CSR. This power has allowed Pomza to operate within the archaeo-
logical territories of Sardis, listed in 2013 on the World Heritage tentative
list The Ancient City of Sardis and the Lydian Tumuli of Bin Tepe.
The mega-​projects and extraction forces of the twenty-​first century in
many ways mirror the lust for Anatolia at the turn of the nineteenth cen-
tury. It is for this reason that I move from an analysis of early twenty-​first-​
century conditions in Chapter 1 to those of the early twentieth century,
the subject of Chapter 2. From this point, I follow a chronological pro-
gression from the late nineteenth century to the present. In each chapter,
I demonstrate how the respective policies and laws that sought to preserve
and protect areas of heritage in the middle Gediz Valley confronted those
that favored economic development, particularly programs that privileged
a “multiplier effect” and a “redoubling” investment model. In this way, the
countryside has been and continues to be engulfed by the needs of a major
urban core, but also economic potential driven by export markets. At the
current pace of development, the failure to harmonize cultural policies
with neoliberal economics threatens heritage at an unprecedented scale,
despite decades of policies and laws that have sought to do just this.
Chapter 2 explores the place of early twentieth-​century Smyrna in
the context of the 1919 Paris Peace Conference, the mission of the US
Archaeological Institute of America (AIA), and the archaeological expe-
dition to Sardis of Princeton University. The unofficial advisors of the AIA
were Howard Crosby Butler and William Hepburn Buckler. Both were

Introduction | 11
Princeton men and both had been integral to the first American archae-
ological expedition to Sardis, Butler as excavation director and Buckler
as epigrapher, financier, and diplomat. Through these two men the AIA
collaborated closely with the US Congress to determine avenues for top-​
down US cultural diplomacy abroad. A thick web of personal and profes-
sional entanglements arose between 1910 and 1919 regarding the vision of
the AIA for the management of antiquities in Asia Minor.
The initiatives of 1919 in Paris for an international commission to
oversee archaeology in the Mediterranean, Asia Minor, and the Near East
failed, but new programs were formed. In the cultural dimension, these in-
cluded pledges of mutual understanding and shared dialogue through the
League of Nations’ International Committee on Intellectual Cooperation
(ICIC). The promise of exchanging information to mitigate future conflict
was attractive to many participating members. The ICIC’s goal followed
a positivist approach, seeking a science of universal moral authority.32
Under the ICIC, the International Museum Office (IMO) sponsored confer-
ences on preservation and archaeological practice. The 1931 International
Congress of Architects and Technicians of Historic Monuments was a
major starting point, known as the Athens Charter of 1931. It offered inter-
national standards for conservation and restoration, especially methods of
anastylosis.
Another Athens Charter was reached in 1933 by the International
Congress of Modern Architecture (Congrès Internationaux d’Architecture
Moderne, CIAM). CIAM explored not what the past was, nor how to re-
create it, but rather what tomorrow could be, and what the future should be.
The group sought to resolve urban issues through new design. Members
grappled with “heritage zones,” seeing archaeological sites not as objects,
but as an embodiment of values. New cities were designed with the hope
that architecture and urban planning could stimulate social cohesion.
Among the most prominent figures for CIAM was Le Corbusier, who in
1939 was hired to prepare plans for Izmir.
Chapter 3 tackles the ideological importance of CIAM in a larger con-
versation about water diplomacy and the tremendous influence of the US
Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA) in the Gediz Valley. The Aegean-​TVA
hydro-​heritage landscapes symbolize the ideological tensions that arose
between 1930 and 1960, a period that saw the demise of the League of
Nations and the début of the United Nations, and with it the establishment
of the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization
(UNESCO). The TVA model had significant impact on Julian S. Huxley, the
first Director-​General of UNESCO. Huxley’s 1943 book TVA, Adventure

12 | Introduction
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
with our fellow man, made in the image of God, to inhabit this world
as his palace, and to interpret its mysteries as its priest.
We may probably put these general results into a more popular
form,—for we reserve the details to a seriatim examination of each
formation,—by the following quotation from a modern and
extensively useful writer: “We distinguish four ages of nature,
corresponding to the great geological divisions, namely—
“1. The primary or palæozoic[2] age, comprising the Lower
Silurian, the Upper Silurian, and the Devonian. During this age there
were no air-breathing animals. The fishes were the masters of
creation. We may therefore call it the Reign of Fishes.
“2. The secondary age, comprising the carboniferous formation,
the trias, the oolitic, and the cretaceous formations. This is the epoch
in which air-breathing animals first appear. The reptiles
predominate over the other classes, and we may therefore call it the
Reign of Reptiles.
“3. The tertiary age, comprising the tertiary formations. During
this age, terrestrial mammals of great size abound. This is the Reign
of Mammals.
“4. The modern age, characterized by the appearance of the most
perfect of created beings. This is the Reign of Man.”[3]
From this brief but necessary outline of “the treasures of the deep”
which lie before us we may proceed to make a few preliminary
remarks on the moral and theological aspects of this science. Many
persons have supposed that the statements of Scripture and the
alleged facts of Geology are at variance, and, forgetful that some of
the devoutest minds of this and other countries have been equal
believers in both, have too summarily dismissed geology from their
notice as a study likely to lead to infidelity. To such we would briefly
remark, that it is utterly impossible there can be any contradiction
between the written volume of Inspiration and the outspread volume
of Creation. Both are books written by the same hand, both are works
proceeding from the same ever blessed and beneficent Creator. We
believe in the plenary inspiration of the Bible, and we believe equally
in the plenary inspiration of Nature; both are full of God, for in them
both He is all and in all; and he who is the deepest and the most
reverent student of both will not be long before he comes to the
conclusion that not only is there no disharmony, no discrepancy and
no contradiction between them, but that they are both harmonious
utterances of the one infinite and ever blessed God.
“In reason’s ear they both rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
For ever singing as they shine,
‘The hand that made us is divine.’”

Let us remember that Geology has nothing to do with the history

of man, nor with God’s government of man; to the Bible, and only
there, do we go for information on these points. Geology gives us the
history and the succession of the things and beings that were created
and made, we believe, incalculable ages before man was placed on
the face of the earth. Possibly at times some new discovery in geology
may appear to contradict our long received interpretations of
isolated passages in Scripture, in which case the modesty of science
compels us to reexamine our data, while our reverence for the word
of God teaches us to revise our interpretations. As Dr. Chalmers once
remarked, “the writings of Moses do not fix the antiquity of the
globe; if they fix anything at all, it is only the antiquity of the
species.” We believe that the same God who, in anticipation of the
spiritual wants of the human race, graciously promised from the
beginning of man’s transgression, that “the seed of the woman
should bruise the serpent’s head,” laid up for him “in the bowels of
the earth those vast stores of granite, marble, coal, salt, and the
various metals, the products of its several revolutions; and thus was
an inexhaustible provision made for his necessities, and for the
developments of his genius, ages in anticipation of his
appearance.”[4]
Truth is, and always must be, coincident. There can be no real
contradiction between the truth of Scripture and the truth of Science.
Whatever is true in one department of God’s agency, must be true
when compared with his works in any other department. As an
illustration we may notice one particular in which Geology and
Scripture move towards the same point in proving the recent
introduction of man. We take up a chart of the earth’s crust, and
examine it so far as that crust is open to our investigation: eight
miles depth or height we know pretty accurately, and in all these
accumulations we find one concurrent testimony. If we take the
Azoic period of the earth’s crust, and search through the granitic
rocks of Scotland, Wales, or Cornwall; or if we pass on to the
Palæozoic period, and examine the Old Red Sandstone, the
Carboniferous system, or other formations; or, extending our
researches, investigate the secondary formations, the Lias, the
Oolite, and the Chalk, and so on until we arrive at the Tertiary period
of the earth’s history; all the testimony is one; there is no
contradiction; there are no fossil boats or sofas; no fossil beds or
books; no fossil boys and girls; no fossil knives and forks; so far as
the teachings of Geology go throughout all these vast periods it says,
“there was not a man to till the earth;” they declare that man is not so
old as the earth, and that all its fossil remains are pre-Adamite.
Now why should this truth be supposed to lie against the teaching
of Scripture? The object of Moses in the first chapter of Genesis, is to
teach us that all existing matter owes its origin to the God of the
Bible, and not to any of the idols of the heathen. “In the beginning,”
says that oldest historical record with which we are acquainted, “God
created the heaven and the earth;” that is, we apprehend, at some
period of the earth’s history, in all probability an undefined and
incalculable distance from the present time, God created all matter
out of nothing, the universe, these heavens and this earth, began to
be at the word of God.
“But afterwards,” says Dr. Pye Smith, in his translation of these
words, “the earth was without form and void;” undergoing, we
believe, those vast geological changes, those deposits of metal, and
those slow accumulations of mineral wealth, by which it was fitted to
become the temple, the palace, the workshop, and the home of man.
“The first sentence in Genesis is a simple, independent, all-
comprehending axiom to this effect, that matter elementary or
combined, aggregated only or organised, and dependent, sentient,
and intellectual beings, have not existed from eternity either in self-
continuity or succession; but had a beginning; that their beginning
took place by the all-powerful will of one Being, the Self-existent,
Independent and Infinite in all perfection; and that the date of that
beginning is not made known.”[5]
Dr. Redford says, “We ought to understand Moses as saying, that
indefinitely far back and concealed from us in the mystery of eternal
ages prior to the first moment of mundane time, God created the
heavens and the earth;” and Dr. Harris in the same strain writes
thus, “The first verse in Genesis was designed by the Divine Spirit to
announce the absolute origination of the material universe by the
Almighty Creator; and it is so understood in the other parts of holy
writ; passing by an indefinite interval, the second verse describes the
state of our planet immediately prior to the Adamic creation, and the
third verse begins the account of the six days’ work.”
On this subject we will quote but one brief sentence more—and we
have preferred using these quotations to stating the question in our
words, thoroughly accordant as they would have been. In Dr.
Hitchcock’s valuable work, entitled “The Religion of Geology,” he
says, “The time is not far distant when the high antiquity of the globe
will be regarded as no more opposed to the Bible than the earth’s
revolution round the sun and on its axis. Soon shall the horizon
where Geology and Revelation meet be cleared of every cloud, and
present only an unbroken and magnificent circle of truth.”
Let these thoughts be borne in mind while we pursue our
examination of the solid crust of this globe. We do not
“drill and bore
The solid earth, and from its strata thence
Extract a register, by which we learn
That He who made it and revealed its date
To Moses was mistaken in its age.”

Nowhere do we find the age of the globe revealed either to Moses or

any other inspired writer; we believe that as science has nothing to
fear from the Bible, so the Bible has nothing to fear from the widest
intellectual range of study. We ponder in devout amazement over
these unwritten records of the earth’s bygone history: we find
‘sermons in stones’ as we light on some delicate fern, or elegant
vertebrate animal, preserved in the deposits of past ages, and the
hieroglyphics of nature and the distincter utterances of the Bible
prompt the same exclamation,—“How marvellous are thy works, O
God, in wisdom hast thou made them all!” “Waste, and disorder, and
confusion we nowhere find in our study of the crust of the earth;
instead of this we find endless examples of economy, order, and
design; and the result of all our researches carried back through the
unwritten records of past time, has been to fix more steadily our
assurance of the existence of one Supreme Creator of all things; to
exalt more highly our conviction of the immensity of His perfections,
of His might and majesty, His wisdom and His goodness, and all-
sustaining providence; and to penetrate our understandings with a
profound and sensible perception of the high veneration man’s
intellect owes to God. The earth from her deep foundations unites
with the celestial orbs that roll through boundless space, to declare
the glory and show forth the praise of their common Author and
Preserver; and the voice of natural religion accords harmoniously
with the testimonies of revelation, in ascribing the origin of the
universe to the will of one Eternal and Dominant Intelligence, the
Almighty Lord and supreme First Cause of all things that subsist; the
same yesterday, to-day, and for ever; before the mountains were
brought forth, or ever the earth and the world were made, God from
everlasting and world without end.”—Buckland’s Bridgewater
Treatise.
“Come, frankly read the rocks, and see
In them the Earth’s biography;
Let mountain piled on mountain tell
Its antique age; and every shell
In fossil form its tale unfold,
Of life’s bright day through time untold;
And gathering use from great and small,
See good in each, but God in all.”
 CHAPTER II.
PRELIMINARIES.

“Of old hast thou laid the foundation of the earth.”

David.

As yet we have only been talking about the crust of the earth; we
shall now return and enter upon its actual examination. It will not be
necessary for us personally to descend into the abysmous caverns
that lie beneath our feet, nor, with hammer in hand, to go forth and
explore the district of country in which we may happen to dwell: we
may do all this by and by, when we know both how and what to
observe. Meanwhile, with such teachers as Buckland, Sedgwick,
Murchison, Pye Smith, Hugh Miller, De la Beche, Lyell, Owen and
others, we may for some while to come be only tarry-at-home
travellers; for in a true sense, in this department of knowledge,
“other men have laboured, and we enter into their labours.” Let us
now look at the crust of the earth, as it may be represented in two
imaginary sections. Suppose we could make a vertical section of the
earth’s crust, and cut straight down some eighty miles till we reached
the central mass of incandescence that we believe lies beneath this
crust, or Erdrinde (earth-rind), as the Germans call it, and then
bring out this section to daylight, it would present something very
much like the following appearance.
 DIAGRAM I.

Here the granite A will be observed forming the supposed

boundary between the superlying strata and the fire B below to which
we have just referred, and thus will be seen the origin of all plutonic
rocks. Here too will be seen how the granite is not confined to the
lower levels, but rises, as mentioned in the first chapter, far above all
the other strata, and forms some of the highest peaks on the face of
the globe.[6] Here, too, will be seen how the granite is frequently
traversed by veins of trap-dykes, those black-looking branches,
which rise often above the whole mass of metamorphic and stratified
rocks, often occasioning great difficulties in mining operations. Here,
too, the student will see how, supposing the theory of a central globe
of heat to be founded in fact, the volcanoes that are now active, C,
form, as the volcanoes that are extinct, D, once did, the safety valves
of this mighty mass of incandescence, B; and in the same way may be
seen how certain strata may be above the granite, or above any other
formation, though they do not overlie them, and how the lowest
strata, being formed first, is said to be older than any superlying
strata, notwithstanding any accidental arrangement produced by
upheaval or depression. For, in “consequence of the great
commotions which the crust of the globe has undergone, many
points of its surface have been elevated to great heights in the form
of mountains; and hence it is that fossils are sometimes found at the
summit of the highest mountains, though the rocks containing them
were originally formed at the bottom of the sea. But, even when
folded or partly broken, their relative age may still be determined by
an examination of the ends of their upturned strata, where they
appear or crop out in succession, at the surface or on the slopes of
mountains.”[7]
But to make this view of the subject clearer, let us imagine that
some Titanic power was granted us to push down these towering
masses of granite to their original situation, below the metamorphic
and stratified rocks, by which means we should at the same time
restore these curved and broken strata to their originally horizontal
position; and let us suppose that we were now again to descend to
the foundations of the earth for the purpose of making another
vertical section; then the crust of the earth would present to us an
arrangement something like the leaves of a book, or the coats of an
onion, arranged in successive and uninterrupted layers, or in
concentric and unbroken circles. Such a diagram must of course be
imaginary, and unless it is taken into connexion with the previous
remarks, it is more likely to bewilder than to assist the beginner. Let
it again be urged upon the reader, that such a chart as we are about
to lay before him is only intended to give him an idea of the
succession of these formations and systems, and that the details
found in it are anticipatory of many future references to it on the
student’s part. Let it not be supposed that this is a mere barren
research into dry facts that have no connexion with our truest
welfare; for if, as Lord Bacon somewhere finely observes, all study is
to be valued “not so mush as an exercise of the intellect, but as a true
discipline of humanity,” then what study is calculated to be more
useful than Geology, in enlarging and purifying the powers of the
mind, by teaching us how harmonious, and orderly, and economic
are the works of God; in removing all narrow notions of the extent
and age of this solid globe, which from the beginning had its origin in
the almighty will of God; in checking the presumptuous or the
chilling inferences of a sceptical philosophy, by everywhere pointing
out the design, skill, and adaptations of an ever-present and most
beneficent Creator; and in chastening those overweening ideas of
ourselves which both ignorance and knowledge may create and
foster, by saying to us, in the language of God himself, as we stand
amazed in the presence of huge pre-Adamite vestiges of creation,
“Where wast thou,” vain man, “when I laid the foundations of the
earth? Declare if thou hast understanding.” (Job xxxviii. 4.)
 “Among these rocks and stones, methinks I see
More than the heedless impress that belongs
To lonely nature’s casual work; they bear
A semblance strange to Power intelligent,
And of Design not wholly worn away.
And I own
Some shadowy intimations haunt me here,
That in these shows a chronicle survives
Of purposes akin to those of man,
Measuring through all degrees, until the scale
Of time and conscious nature disappear,
Lost in unsearchable eternity.”—Wordsworth.

We will now proceed to the diagram to which we have made

allusion, and which represents an ideal section of the earth’s crust as
the various formations are there found arranged. (Diagram II.)
 DIAGRAM II.

Here, in the words of another writer, we would add for the reader’s
guidance, that “the unstratified or igneous rocks occur in no regular
succession, but appear amidst the stratified without order or
arrangement; heaving them out of their original horizontal positions,
breaking up through them in volcanic masses, and sometimes
overrunning them after the manner of liquid lava. From these
circumstances they are, in general, better known by their mineral
composition than by their order of occurrence. Still it may be
convenient to divide them into three great classes; granite,
trappean, and volcanic—granite being the basis of all known rocks,
and occurring along with the primary and transition strata; the
trappean, of a darker and less crystalline structure than the granite,
and occurring along with the secondary and tertiary rocks; and the
volcanic, still less crystalline and compact, and of comparatively
recent origin, or still in process of formation.” This the student will
observe by another reference to the previous diagram; but, in looking
at the one now before him, we must also add for his further guidance,
—for we are presuming that we address those who need initiation
into the rudiments of this science, and the circumstance that we
never met with a preliminary treatise that quite satisfied us, or
helped such intelligent youth as were prying into the apparently
cabalistic mysteries of the earth’s structural divisions, is one strong
inducement to the present undertaking;—we must add, that “it must
not be supposed, however, that all the stratified rocks always occur in
any one portion of the earth’s crust in full and complete succession
as represented” in Diagram II. “All that is meant is, that such would
be their order if every group and formation were present. But
whatever number of groups may be present, they never happen out
of their regular order of succession; that is, clay-slate never occurs
above coal, nor coal above chalk. Thus in London, tertiary strata
occupy the surface; in Durham, magnesian limestone; in Fife, the
coal measures; and in Perthshire, the old red sandstone and clay-
slate; so that it would be fruitless to dig for chalk in Durham, for
magnesian limestone in Fife, or for coal in Perthshire. It would not
be absurd, however, to dig for coal in Durham, because that mineral
underlies the magnesian limestone; or for old red sandstone in Fife,
because that formation might be naturally expected to occur under
the coal strata of that country, in the regular order of succession.”[8]
Still, after reading all this, we can easily imagine, not so much an
air of incredulity taking possession of the countenance of our
courteous reader as a feeling somewhat like this, with which we have
often come into contact in those geological classes of young persons
which it has been our pleasure to conduct: “Well, all that’s very plain
in the book; I see granite lies at the bottom, and pushes itself up to
the top very often; and I see in the diagrams that coal and chalk are
not found in the same place, and that different localities have their
different formations, and the various formations have their different
fossils, but I confess that I cannot realize it. I know the earth is round
like an orange, a little flattened at the poles—what is called an oblate
spheroid; but all this surpasses my power of comprehension; can’t
you make it plainer?” Well, let us try; on page 27 is a diagram,
representing no ideal, but an actual boring into the earth. London is
situated on the tertiary formation, in what is called geologically the
basin of the London clay, that is almost on the very top of the crust,
or external covering that lies on the vast mass of molten and other
matter beneath. Here is first a drawing and then a section that may
represent this basin:—

DIAGRAM III.

DIAGRAM IV.

The water which falls on the chalk hills flows into them, or into the
porous beds adjoining, and would rise upwards to its level but for the
superincumbent pressure of the bed of clay above it, cccc. Under
these circumstances, in order to procure water, Artesian[9] wells are
sunk through the bed of clay, perhaps also through the chalk, but at
any rate till the depressed stratum of chalk is reached; and this gives
exit to the subterranean water, which at once rises through the iron
tubes inserted in the boring to the surface. By these borings through
the clay, water is obtained where it would be impossible to sink a
well, or where the expense would prohibit the attempt. To explain
this matter, here is a diagram (No. V.) which represents the Artesian
well at the Model Prison at Pentonville, London, the strata upon
which London is built, and which we can apply to the diagram on
page 21, that the theory of the earth’s crust may be the more
thoroughly understood before we proceed.

DIAGRAM V.

In the same manner Artesian wells have been sunk in other places,
as at Hampstead Water Works, 450 feet deep; Combe & Delafield’s,
500 feet deep; and the Trafalgar-square Water Works, 510 feet deep.
[10]
Now, the reader has only to take this last diagram, and in
imagination to apply it to the one on page 21, in order to see that so
far as actual boring and investigation go, the geological theory of the
earth’s crust is correct; only again let it be observed that this order is
never inverted, although it frequently happens that some one or
more of the strata may be absent.
Hitherto we have spoken of the earth’s crust without reference to
that wondrous succession and development of living beings which
once had their joy of life, and whose fossil remains, found in the
different strata, waken such kindling emotions of the power of Deity,
and enlarge indefinitely our conceptions of the boundless resources
of His Mind. This will open before us a new chapter in the history of
our planet, already the theatre of such vast revolutions, and which,
under the influence of Divine truth, is yet to undergo one greater and
nobler than any of these. We have as yet only glanced at the surface
page of the wondrous book, now happily opened for us by geologists,
to whose names we have already made reference; and as the mind
rests with intense pleasure on the discoveries of Champollion,
Belzoni, Lane, Layard, Botta, and others who have deciphered the
hieroglyphics, in which were written the wars and the chronicles of
ancient nations, whose names and deeds are becoming, by books and
lectures, and above all by our noble national Museum, familiar even
to our children, and a source of help and solace to the hard-toiling
artisan; so with profounder interest, as carried back into remoter
ages of antiquity, so remote that they seem to lie beyond the power of
a human arithmetic to calculate, do we humbly endeavour to
decipher the hieroglyphics,[11] not of Egypt or of Nineveh, but of the
vast creation of God, written in characters that require, not only
learning and science to understand, but modesty, patience, and
triumphant perseverance. He who with these pre-requisites
combines reverence for God and His revelation, will always find in
Geology material both for manly exercise of thought, and also for
reverent adoration of Him who is Himself unsearchable, and whose
ways are past finding out.
“We not to explore the secrets, ask
Of His eternal empire, but the more
To magnify His works, the more we know.”—Milton.
 Most happily for Christendom, our noblest men of science are not
ashamed of the “reproach of Christ;” and we know not how to
conclude this chapter in a strain more accordant with our own
thoughts than by quoting the words of an eminent living naturalist:
—“I can echo with fullest truth the experience of Bishop Heber; ‘In
every ride I have taken, and in every wilderness in which my tent has
been pitched, I have found enough to keep my mind from sinking
into the languor and the apathy which have been regarded as natural
to a tropical climate.’ Nay, I may truly say, I found no tendency to
apathy or ennui. Every excursion presented something to admire;
every day had its novelty; the morning was always pregnant with
eager expectation; the evening invariably brought subjects of interest
fresh and new; and the days were only too short for enjoyment. They
were not days of stirring adventure, of dangerous conflicts with man
or with beast, or of hair-breadth escapes in flood and field; their
delights were calm and peaceful, I trust not unholy, nor unbecoming
the character of a Christian, who has his heart in heaven, and who
traces, even in earth’s loveliest scenes, the mark of the spoiler. The
sentiments expressed by my friend[12] and fellow-labourer are those
which I would ever associate with the study of science. ‘If the sight of
nature,’ observes Mr. Hill, ‘were merely the looking at a painted
pageantry, or at a spectacle filling the carnal mind with wonder and
delight, the spirit would be overpowered and worked into weariness;
but it is admiration at the wisdom, and reverence for the beneficence
of Almighty power. He who dwelleth in the light which no man can
approach unto, whom no man hath seen, nor can see,’ is yet visible in
His perfections through the works of His hand, and His designs are
made manifest in the purpose of His creatures. Wherever our lot is
cast, into whatever scenes our wayward impulses lead us, the mind-
illumined eye gazes on divine things, and the spirit-stirred heart feels
its pulses bounding with emotions from the touch of an ever-present
Deity. The habit that sees in every object the wisdom and the
goodness as well as the power of God, I may speak of, as Coleridge
speaks of the poetical spirit, ‘it has been to me an exceeding great
reward; it has soothed my afflictions; it has multiplied and refined
my enjoyments; it has endeared my solitude; and it has given me the
habit of wishing to discover the good and the beautiful in all that
meets and surrounds me.’
“‘Great are thy works, Jehovah, infinite
Thy power! what thought can measure thee, or tongue
Relate thee?’”[13]
 CHAPTER III.
THE ANCIENT EPOCH.

“Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth?”—Job xxxviii. 4.

And now in right earnest let us begin our examination of the

earth’s crust. Some of the terms we may use will, perhaps, at first
sight appear repulsive from their novelty and difficulty; such words
we will explain as we proceed, and will only stay the student’s course
to remark, that there is a necessity for the use of the dead languages
in the formation of compound terms that are to become descriptive
names, and in their application to newly discovered objects. This
necessity arises from the fact that it is only in this way that scientific
men of different nations can understand the character of each other’s
researches, and compare notes with one another. A fossil is found, let
us suppose, in the lias formation; it proves to be the organic remains
of some very strange and anomalous creature. People go down to
Lyme Regis to examine it, and, in doing so, discover others.
Comparative anatomists arrange the dislocated parts and give them a
name; this must be intelligible to geologists on the Continent as well
as in England; and therefore some term descriptive of the animal,
once the living possessor of these “dry bones,” must be given, and
finally it is called ichthyosaurus. Any one in Russia, or Austria, or
Italy, who happened to be acquainted with the rudiments of Greek,
would know at once the kind of animal referred to by its very name,
derived from ichthus, a fish, and sauros, a lizard. This would indicate
to all scientific men the nature of this remarkable animal, of which
we shall have to tell some stories by and by as full of wonder as any
modern or ancient book of marvels; while, if we had called it fish-
lizard, only those who understood English would know what we
meant. Our object is to simplify as much as possible every difficult
term that may be used; but while we solicit our readers to master
each difficulty as it rises, we hope they will not think that, when they
have read this little book, they are masters of Geology, our highest
ambition being only to impart a taste for the science.
To return: our examination commences with the Plutonic rocks, so
called in memory of the well-known mythological god of the fiery or
infernal regions; and we take granite[14] as a type of these rocks,
because it is so familiar to all our readers. There are besides granite,
syenite,[15] greenstone, porphyry, basalt, and others, to dilate upon
which would defeat our purpose. Our object is to lay but a little at a
time upon the memory, and to let that little be well digested before
we pass from the thoroughly known to the unknown. Nothing but
actual examination can make the student familiar with the varieties
of the rocks of this very ancient epoch in the world’s history. Well,
everybody knows what granite is; they see it on the kerb-stones of
the wayside, in the hard paving of the London streets, in the massive
slabs of London and Waterloo Bridges, and elsewhere. “Granite!”
exclaims the reader, “everybody knows what granite is, and there is
an end of it; you make as much fuss about granite as Wordsworth did
about his well-known primrose, and the man who could see nothing
but a primrose in a primrose.”
But there is a poetry and a history about granite upon which we
are going to dwell. This piece of granite which I hold in my hand is
composed of quartz, mica, and feldspar.[16] The quartz is white and
hard—I can’t scratch it with my knife; the mica is in glistening plates
or scales; and the feldspar is soft and greyish, and can easily be
scratched. Oh, if this granite could speak, what a story could it tell!
“To give it, then, a tongue were wise in man.” Let us try. “Once upon
a time, long, long ages ago, incalculable periods before Adam was
placed in possession of Eden, I, the granite, and my contemporaries,
came into being. Before us, this planet ‘was without form and void.’ A
dark chaotic period, of which I know nothing, preceded me. When I
first emerged into being, at the command of Him who laid the
foundations of the earth, this world was a barren, lifeless,
uncultivated, uninhabited, untrodden, seasonless waste. Here and
there were undulations of land and water, but all was bare, desolate,
and silent: not a moss nor a lichen covered the ancient skeleton of
the globe; not a sea-weed floated in the broad ocean; not a trace
existed even of the least highly organized animal or vegetable;
everything was still, and with the stillness of universal death. The
earth was prepared, and the fiat of creation had gone forth; but there
was no inhabitant, and no beings endowed with life had been
introduced to perform their part in the great mystery of creation.”[17]
And the granite might go on to say—“Man! of three-score years and
ten, where wast thou when He, my Maker and yours, laid the
foundations of the earth? Let me tell you what an important part I
have played in the history of your world’s formation. I rise to the
highest elevations, and form the sublimest pinnacles on the surface
of the globe, and without me your scenery would lose its grandeur
and its glory. But for me Albert Smith had never climbed Mont
Blanc, nor Humboldt Cotopaxi and Chimborazo; nor would the head
of the famed Egyptian Memnon[18] have been sculptured. You may
see me giving to Cornwall, Wales, and Scotland their most valuable
minerals and metals. In Europe
‘I am monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute.’

The Scandinavians, the Hartz mountains, the Alps, and the Pyrenees
are mine; nor is my territory less in Asia, Africa, the great Americas,
and in the becoming great Australia; and thus, by my deeply rooted
foundations and my vast extension, I constitute the framework, solid
and immoveable, of this ‘great globe and all that it inherits.’”
Thus, at any rate, the granite might speak, nor would there be one
word of vain boasting in it. Having beard it, or fancied we heard it,
which amounts to the same thing, let us soberize ourselves, and put
granite into the third person. There are no fossils in granite and the
other Plutonic and volcanic rocks; even supposing any forms of life
to have been in existence at the period to which we are referring, the
action of fire has annihilated all their remains. We should not
therefore expect in Cumberland and Cornwall, nor in those parts of
Devonshire where granite prevails, to find the fossils peculiar to
other formations with which in time we hope to make familiar
acquaintance. But though destitute of interest in this respect, how
great is its importance and interest in those economic uses which
have the geologist for their guide, and the whole family of man for
their beneficent operations! “Many varieties of granite are excellent
as building stones, though expensive in working to definite forms.
Some of the most important public works of Great Britain and
Ireland, France and Russia, are of this material. In selecting granite,
those varieties in which the constituent minerals and the scales of
mica are superabundant, should be avoided; and, as a practical test,
it is wise to notice the country immediately around the quarry, as the
sandy varieties rapidly disintegrate,[19] and form accumulations of
micaceous sand. The Hayter or Dartmoor granite, the Aberdeen
granite, the Kingstown (Dublin) granite, some beds of the Mourne or
county of Down granite, and the Guernsey or Channel Island granite,
are well known for their excellence. In some of the quarries the
bedding of the granite is more defined than in others; and wherever
this is the case, or where marked cleavages or joints prevail, the work
is much facilitated. Many old Egyptian works and statues were
formed of granite, and it is still used for colossal works, as it takes a
fine polish. For example, the great fountain shell, or vase, before the
Museum at Berlin, and the pedestal of Peter the Great at St.
Petersburg, are of the northern granite, being sculptured from erratic
blocks. The splendid Scotch granite columns, in the vestibule of the
Fitzwilliam Museum at Cambridge, are beautiful examples of a
modern application of this rock to the arts.”[20]
It is also in the Plutonic or igneous rocks that almost all the metals
are found; and here we have our first illustration of that order to
which we shall frequently call attention; an order as exquisite as can
be found in the drawers of a lady’s cabinet, forbidding the thought
that anything observable at the present time, in the bowels or on the
surface of the crust of the earth, can be attributed to the violent
diluvial action of the Noachian deluge. The diagram below represents
an ideal section of a mining district.